


To convince you that I love you (and it’s okay).

by Alexander_Slamilton



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Canon Era, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, I promise, Internalized Homophobia, John is sad, M/M, Religious Guilt, War, Wow, a lot of hurt/comfort, alex loves him a lot, also sin, angsty and fluffy all at the same time, angsty laurens is my fave, because i cant write fluff without angst, because of the time period, but it does have a happy ending, child abuse mentions, founding fathers sin, i love it, i love them, im going to hell, john is just kinda messed up tbh, look at my sons, lots of sin, my favourite revolutionary war soldiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7688218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexander_Slamilton/pseuds/Alexander_Slamilton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What can I do to convince you that I love you?” He said, pulling back to look John in the eyes.</p><p>“You are already doing so,” John bent his head again and took Alex’s lips in his own. </p><p>I had no idea what to write for this summary so here's my favourite lines from this piece of sin. This is based of this piece of art http://yelyzavetaart.tumblr.com/image/146383333327 because its amazing and everyone should check out their blog!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	To convince you that I love you (and it’s okay).

John Laurens, stepped off the ship in New York city in a lovely mood; then remembered that he had not told his father he would be coming to America. He sighed and turned his jacket collar up against the cold wind that swept against him. He wanted to be a part of something greater than himself. He wanted to change the world for the better. He wanted to do something so big, so indeterminably huge, something that his father could not comprehend; now was the time. He had finished his studies in England and boarded a ship in Portsmouth; even now as he walked on dry land he could feel the ocean’s swell. 

 

He walked towards the place he had been told Washington would be. He had no real idea what he was doing, but whatever it was he had a feeling things would work out for the better. He had grown restless sitting around London with nothing to do, no war to fight in when there was one just across the sea. His feet crunched on the uneven ground, his boots growing steadily more filthy as he walked. A sign of a pub creaked in the light wind that sent small stones skittering across the ground. He sighed again, this quickly turned into a yawn, tiredness prickling as his eyes; an incessant reminder that he had not slept well for weeks.

 

Washington’s forces were amassed a good four days travel from where he was. He had to find a horse, and quickly, though first he had to get a good night’s sleep. He moved forward through the ruined city. The buildings were all crumbling, as though the wrath of God himself had rained down upon the place. Old newspapers and bits of dust skittered across the deserted streets; John knew the population of the city had more than halved in the time the war had been waging. A sign that said _vacancies_ creaked slightly, the plaque above it said _The Portsmouth Inn._ Could anything be more poetic, John thought as he dragged himself up the steps leading to the double green doors.

 

Inside, the inn was promising enough, though the theme of green seemed to continue throughout; a green bar lead to a staircase with a green banister, it was slightly off putting. John fought another sigh, instead walking toward the wizened old man sitting behind the desk.

 

“A room for tonight, please,” John said, fighting off a yawn.

 

“That’ll be eight shillings,” the man grunted, holding his hand out for the coins. 

 

After he’d paid, John was handed the key to his room. It was small, that was the first thing that hit John as he stepped inside; the ceiling hung low, with dark wood beams stretching above his head, closing him into the space. He hated it, yet he fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, falling into the abyss with a smile on his face.

 

***

 

“This is my one of my aides, Alexander Hamilton,” General Washington gestured to the small, red haired man standing next to him.

 

They were standing in the middle of the camp, white tents stretching into the distance; John had been there for a very short while before he met with the general himself. He had explained his position and almost begged Washington to let him join his army. The General had let him, with an almost smile on his face, proclaiming him aide-de-camp after about an hour or so. Smoke was rising, from the fires, ghost like tendrils moving through the air. Trees surrounded the camp, tall and imposing; their branches clawing and reaching for the inhabitants, though here, Laurens finally felt safe. But he couldn't take his eyes off the man that stood before him; he was small, he barely came to John’s nose. Intelligent eyes looked out of a face that screamed of a hunger deeper than just physical need. Alexander’s hair was unruly, thick and coming out of the ponytail it had been drawn into. Perfect, plump lips smiled at him, cutting off all intelligent thought. The rest of him was also small, a trim chest and waist visible under the coat and waist coat of the uniform. 

 

“A pleasure.” John held out his hand.

 

“Likewise.” Hamilton nodded and took John’s hand in his; it was small and warm, delicate and almost feminine. 

 

“You’ll bunk together, it makes it easier for me to contact my aides if they’re all in the same place,” The General said. Showing John in the to house. 

 

***

 

Late at night, a few days later, when the moon was high in the sky, and the candles were burning low, John was staring at the ceiling of the room. A spider was making it's way across the ceiling, though it seemed to be going in circles, he was sure the spider had passed that specific knot before. Hamilton was writing away, volumes of paper piling up beside him, his pen scratching across the pages stopping only when he had to dip it in the ink. 

 

“Hamilton, please, do you ever sleep?”

 

“I’ll sleep when this is done,” Hamilton didn't stop writing.

 

“Please, Hamilton, go to sleep.” John rolled on to his side so he could talk to Hamilton face to face.

 

“The General expects this-“

 

“Not before tomorrow evening, he told us so himself,” John said.

 

“I do not not know if I can do it in such a short space of time,” Hamilton sighed and all but slammed the quill in to it’s well.

 

“Hamilton-“

 

“Alexander, you may as well call me Alexander.”

 

“Alexander, then, if there’s anyone in this damned camp who can get that thing done, then it is you,” John sighed, pinching his nose. “Just please, will you continue it when it is light outside.”

 

“Fine. But if it isn't done, then I am blaming you,” Alexander said, rather petulantly, but with a hint of humour in his eye.

 

“Very well, do what you must to put your mind at ease,” John turned over again, as Alexander blew out the light and climbed into the next door bed.

 

A few moments later, Alexander shifted, turning over; then he turned the other way. John almost sighed again, and turned so he was facing the ceiling, he tried to make out the spider but the darkness obscured it. After mere seconds, Alexander shifted and turned again; this time he coughed, the noise shattered the quiet that had descended on the room. 

 

“For God’s sake, man, go to sleep,” John nearly shouted, he would have raised his voice if the General had not been sleeping but two doors down. 

 

John barely caught the next word as it was muffled by blankets, “can’t,” Alexander said.

 

“Why ever not?”

 

“Its too cold, and there’s no grate to put a fire in,” Alexander sighed. “I can’t sleep for the shivering.”

 

“You survived it longer than I; you should be able to survive a few more nights,” John drew his blankets over his head.

 

“There was another, before you came, he was killed; I saw his head get split open as he fell. We used to share the bed cause otherwise we would freeze. Don’t tell me that you’re not freezing your toes off,” Alexander said, his voice was harsh but John could almost hear the smile in it. He could also hear the pleading tones as the other man shivered. 

 

“Fine, just stick to your side.” He turned over and faced the window, where silver finger of moonlight slithered through the gaps in the curtains. 

 

He felt the bed dip as Alexander got in, the warmth of his body spreading through the blankets. He felt the weight of another blanket settle on top of him. He drew himself into the heat, feeling Alexander stop shivering as the bed warmed up. It was small and rather awkward but it was better than shivering alone in the cold. 

 

***

 

John thinks at least, a month or so later, that that night was when it started. The feelings. They had haunted him throughout his life. Dogging him, always on his heels; slavering in anticipation, just waiting to drag him to hell. He knows that once Alexander finds out, he will they always do, he’ll leave. Or worse, he’ll tell Washington and John’ll be hanged. But Alexander doesn’t notice, or he doesn't say anything; so John keeps his head down and continues his work. 

 

“We need to talk about this letter,” Alexander said, dropping into the seat next to John.

 

“Oh?” John had sworn he’d nearly thrown up at the first four words Alexander had said. 

 

“Yeah, your phrasing here is a little off, in my opinion,” Alexander shot him a look, pressing his arm against John’s; John flinched, “a-are you quite alright, John?” 

 

“I’m fine. Go on,” John coughed and inched away from Alex slightly, guilt eating at his heart. 

 

***

 

It sat on his desk, stark and white against the dark wood. He wouldn't open it. He couldn’t. He had recognised the handwriting as soon as the messenger handed it to him. He felt like he’d been burned. He had flung the letter away from him, it had landed where it now lay. Alexander had been on his way out of the room but John had noticed the look of confusion on the other man’s face. The looping cursive, in black ink, was his father’s. 

 

“Evening, John.” Alexander walked in, shutting the door behind him. 

 

“Hi,” it came out breathy and he realised just how damned scared he was.

 

“John?”  
  


“Alexander.”

 

“Has this anything to do with that letter you received today?”

 

“Has _what_ anything to do with the letter?”

 

“Your current mood and look,” Alexander sat next to John on the bed. 

 

“…aye, it might,” John sighed and put his head in his hands.

 

“Why?”

 

“My father, I haven’t spoken to him since I arrived back here; he, does not approve of certain life choices.”

 

“What life choices if you don’t mind me asking?”

 

“That, Alexander, I’m afraid, is personal,” John smiled. 

 

“Well then, I can’t imagine you needing any help.”

 

“He’s threatened to disown me, then he threatened to kill me; he beat me. He told me not to come home, so I went to England, but then I heard about this. The revolution. I want to be part of something bigger than myself. So, here I am and now he knows,” John’s voice was muffled from his hands but judging by the way Alexander tensed on the bed he’d heard.

 

“He threatened your life?” Alexander’s voice was quiet. 

 

“Um… yes,” John shrugged, he thought it wasn't such a big deal.

 

“What on earth would posses a man to threaten the life of his own child? How old were you?” Alexander sounded chocked. 

 

“Thirteen, I was thirteen,” John didn't much feel like discussing it, but the more he talked about it the lighter he became; he had never discussed how his father treated him, not even to his own siblings. “It’s fine, honestly I deserved most of it, I wasn't the best behaved in my youth.”

 

“He threatened a thirteen year old child, that’s not okay, John. Whether you deserved it or no,” Alexander touched his shoulder, a bare brush of heat, separated from flesh by a millimetre of cloth. It burned him. 

 

“Don’t-“ John chocked on his words, they wouldn't come out; they stuck in throat, he couldn't bare to pull away from the touch. Alexander’s hand was still on his shoulder; he leaned into the friendly touch, almost, almost willing it to become more. It didn’t. 

 

“I know you may think yourself a worthless sinner, but you happen to be wrong. Though I doubt a bastard’s words mean much.”

 

“They do, and I thank you,” John smiled. 

 

They slept easier that night, Alexander rolled them both on to their sides and draped his arm around John’s waist. They were crushed against each other, and whilst they breathed in synch, John had the best night sleep he’d had in a long time. He felt as though a huge weight had been taken off his shoulders. For the first time, he breathed without his throat closing up. 

 

***

 

John wondered, as he sat on a hill two weeks later, if that night is when his feelings for Alexander spiralled out of control. He felt himself falling, dipping under that waves as they submerged him under fantasies. He was falling for Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton. He’d had these feelings before, the other man had broken his heart and left him the cold. He’d gotten a girl pregnant in return. He loved his daughter, he really did, but he didn't want to look his wife in the eye; not when he felt like he did. Not when he sinned as he did. But he couldn't stop sinning. He couldn't stop himself, the thoughts plagued him, he couldn't switch them off. 

 

He felt the world close in around him, felt walls pressing in on him though there are none. His breaths came faster now, the landscape is span, round and round in circles. He couldn't think; he couldn't breath and he couldn't escape the hell he created for himself. 

 

“John?” The voice was muffled, he thought somewhere in the back of his mind that it was just a demon, sent by the devil to tempt him. 

 

“John?” The demon called, he would not answer, not this time.

 

“Lieutenant Colonel Laurens, report!” Another voice barked, one accented in French, demons didn’t have french accents. John stood straight in a salute, only because of his military training being so ingrained in to his body. It didn't stop his knees from shaking.

 

“You see, Gil, he’s worse than I thought,” Alexander whispered to the other man, who John was now aware of as being the Marquis.

 

“Lieutenant Colonel, John, are you okay?” Lafayette said, looking John in the eye.

 

“I- I-“ John tried to talk but he chocked and couldn't get the words out, he felt the bricks around his mind tumble one by one. The walls he had built up around his silent suffering came down and the flood gates opened. He threw himself at Alexander, who was steadied by a hand from Lafayette. John was cradled against his best friend, head pressed into the gap between his coat and his neck; a hand on the back of his neck kept him in place. 

 

“You’re alright. It’s okay,” Alexander’s voice was soft, barely a whisper; his hand combed through John’s hair, shaking out the tangles that had formed. 

 

“I’ll leave you, make sure you’re not disturbed,” Lafayette turned around and started down the hill, leaves crunching slightly under his boots. 

 

“It’s not okay,” John mumbled in Alex’s skin.

 

“What’s not?”

 

“This, what we’re doing, what I feel for you, who I am.” John gestured down the length of his body, and Alex’s so crushed up against each other that he could feel the other’s heart. 

 

“This is not sinful,” Alex kept carding his fingers through John’s hair, stroking through the tangles and knots with practised ease, “ _you_ are not sinful.”

 

They lost track of time, standing up on that hill, watching the fires flickering in camp as the wind blew white tent flaps and rattled branches. The stars appeared before their eyes, stretching out into the immeasurable void of space. Their breaths mingled together in mist that John burrowed in to the warmth that was radiating out from Alex’s skin, he found comfort there, breathing in the scent that lulled him to sleep every night. 

 

“This is not sinful.” Alex murmured against the top of his head with just a feather light touch of lips against his hair. 

 

***

 

“I love you, John Laurens,” the words are kissed in to his skin, breathed in to his heart. 

 

“And I, you, Alexander, _my_ Alexander,” the thoughts still haunt him, they chase him at every corner; ready to sink their claws into him and make even the brightest day black. But, when Alex is kissing him, he can feel nothing but love and warmth. When Alex holds him there is only comfort on his mind. 

 

They move into the room, candles flaring, pinpoints in the darkness of lights, their mouths and the rest of their bodies are so closely intertwined that they can longer tell whose lips are whose. John pushed Alex up against the door, holding him there and pressing their lips together harder than before. All teeth and tongue; heat passing between them. Alex wrapped his legs around John’s waist, pressing their hips together.

 

“Are you sure?” Alex breathed into John’s mouth.

 

“Most definitely.” 

 

“What can I do to convince you that I love you?” He said, pulling back to look John in the eyes.

 

“You are already doing so,” John bent his head again and took Alex’s lips in his own. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at http://obi-wan-kxnxbi.tumblr.com come say hi and sin with me!
> 
> Please comment, I need praise for self validation and it keeps me going! Also kudos is great too!! Thanks for reading :D
> 
> This was based of this piece of art -- http://yelyzavetaart.tumblr.com/image/146383333327 -- check out their blog its amazing :D :D


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